


How To Boil A Frog

by neuroglam



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Consent, First Time, M/M, Pre-Canon, Underage Sex, When I say underage I mean it, You've been warned, do NOT with how I do my Post-Socialist underage characters bitch I was there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:49:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9498992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neuroglam/pseuds/neuroglam
Summary: It’s easy—way too easy—to tell his grandpa, “I’ll be out with friends tonight!” ... To come back home five minutes to curfew, with his asshole still tingling, and ask what’s for dinner.





	

**Author's Note:**

> "If you drop a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will of course frantically try to clamber out. But if you place it gently in a pot of tepid water and turn the heat on low, it will float there quite placidly. As the water gradually heats up, the frog will sink into a tranquil stupor, exactly like one of us in a hot bath, and before long, with a smile on its face, it will unresistingly allow itself to be boiled to death."
> 
> Version of the fable from Daniel Quinn's _The Story of B_
> 
> __________________________________
> 
> Myth gave feedback on an earlier draft of this. Wulfy read over the final version for bad grammar and typos. Any remaining crap writing is mine.

_there’s no time for hesitating_

_pain is ready, pain is waiting_

_primed to do its educating_

  


**How To Boil A Frog**

  


Here’s the thing about being raised by your grandpa: he makes pirozhki and he cares, but it’s really easy to lie to him. He grew up during safer, tamer times. The most rebellious thing he did was listen to bootleg records of the Rolling Stones and grow his hair as long as he could before he’d be called to the teacher’s office to cut it. He smoked behind school during break. He went to the park and passed around a bottle of vodka, drumming out Charlie Watts’ solos with a pair of pencils on the back of his math book.

Everyone thought he wouldn’t amount to much in life, and they were right. People who dared to rebel were rarely allowed to—not because ratty self-made band t-shirts were so important, but because wearing them showed you weren’t smart and ambitious enough to play the system. You weren’t _one of us—_ weren't cadre material. You’d end up in construction or on a factory floor.

Yuri’s grandpa still thinks this way even though the Soviet Union dissolved before Yuri was born. He chides Yuri for his studded backpack. He disapproves of his untidy hair. Yuri has to show him posters of Viktor Nikiforov at sixteen; has to tell him a yarn about halo effects, presentation scores, and long hair being good in competition. Grandpa wants Yuri to dress neatly, to do well in school, to be a proper young man. To have a better life than the one they can afford on a welder’s pension.

Grandpa means well, but he is so, so naive.

So it’s easy—way too easy—to tell him, “I’ll be out with friends tonight, grandpa!” and when the inevitable _don’t you_ _smoke and_ _drink and get in trouble!_ comes, say, “I’d never! They can do what they want; I've got practice tomorrow!”

It’s way too easy to come back home five minutes to curfew, with his asshole still tingling, and ask what’s for dinner.

His grandpa doesn’t ask questions. Skating is not what he’d have chosen for Yuri, but at least it keeps the boy out of trouble.

____________________________________

Yuri starts looking at twelve. 

His dick starts doing things, and he tugs at it, awkward, with the inherited wisdom of all the locker rooms he's been in since he was scouted at eight.

As an adult, Yuri will look back and try to pinpoint when Victor first looks back. To this day, he can’t tell.

____________________________________

When Yuri turns thirteen, he and Victor start staying behind after practice. Victor talks to him like an adult—mostly about skating, but also about fashion and stuff on TV.

“I have cable and a forty-inch flat-screen,” Victor says one day. “We should hang out at mine.”

Yuri likes hanging out with a grown-up. It makes him feel proud.

____________________________________

It’s forty minutes on the bus to get home from Victor’s—and that’s if you don’t have to spend fifteen minutes waiting.

“Stay some more,” Victor says one day. “I’ll give you money for a cab.”

There’s always change from his cab money. Yuri collects it and buys t-shirts instead of stealing them from the second-hand store next to his school.

Sometimes, he buys Coke.

____________________________________

“Have you ever had a girlfriend?” Victor asks, two weeks after they first start hanging out at his. Fashion TV runs in the background.

Yuri snorts. As if he’d pass up on skating time for girls.

“What, you didn’t mess around with anyone at training camp?”

Fair point. It’s training camp. “Of course I did,” he bluffs. “Didn’t you?”

“Everyone does.” Victor shrugs. “You do all kinds of shit at training camp.”

Victor tells Yuri of putting toothpaste on the back of other people’s door handles and filling the shower head with drink crystals for Georgi.

Yuri laughs and tells about taping the seat and the lid of the coaches’ toilets together and hiding in wait to hear Yakov curse when his butt hits the porcelain.

____________________________________

Victor keeps an eye on Yuri in practice. 

He isn't annoying like Yakov, who always wants to stop Yuri from trying things Yuri knows he can do. If Yuri wants to go for a triple, he knows to wait until Yakov focuses on Mila or tells Victor, _watch them, will you_ , and disappears to the toilet. 

Victor pretends he doesn’t see and lets him try, and learn, and try, and learn.

If Yuri can’t get it, he skates over and says, “Press through the heel, not through your toe.”

Yuri does, and jumps higher.

____________________________________

“So, who did you mess around with at training camp?” Yuri asks two days later, because of how broad Victor’s shoulders are and how his voice rumbles low in his throat when he laughs about something. Also, because it’s exciting.

“This Ukrainian guy, Vitali Salchuk.” Victor’s eyes are on the TV, his feet propped on the coffee table. “He didn’t make it to seniors, he fell and fucked his back.”

Yuri tries to sound cool about this. “What did you guys do?” He puts all his residual nervousness in chewing on his Coke straw.

“Hmmm.” Victor smirks. “Jerked each other off. Tried to blow each other.” Yuri can’t help but imagine it: sneaking out, finding Victor. Putting a hand on his dick. Doing things with him.

“We had no clue what we were doing, though. It was kind of awkward. It feels much better when someone experienced does it to you.” Victor’s voice sounds kind of absent, like what he’s talking about isn’t a big deal at all. “Well. _S_ _ome_ things feel much better. Like being fingered and rimmed and actual sex. Blowjobs are good no matter who does them.”

Yuri feels warm all over. He folds up a leg and slouches a little so Victor can’t see how he _wants._

____________________________________

Yuri is still thinking about it that night.

He puts his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and pulls it over his lap. He tries to pay attention to the TV and fails. In the end, he excuses himself to his room where he lies on his stomach, dick pressed into the sheets. He remembers— _fingered_ and _rimmed_ and _actual sex—_ and puts a pillow under his hips and humps it. And thinks: what if Victor were behind him? What if Victor saw Yuri like this and grabbed his ass and spread it and touched him _there_?

Yuri sneaks a finger behind his back and presses on his hole and he needs to stop _now_ or else his pillow would be a mess and his grandpa would ask questions and _no_.

He flips over, sensitive dick pointing up to his navel and heart beating like he’s just done four triple axels in a row. In the end, he does what teenage boys have done since times immemorial: he picks up a dirty sock and finishes into it.

Five minutes later, he’s hard again.

By the time his cock finally chills, it feels tender and Yuri’s come into the sock three times.

He tiptoes to the bathroom to wash it.

His grandpa is asleep on the couch, and the TV shows infomercials.

____________________________________

He doesn’t go to Victor’s for the next three days. Even so, his skin still tingles and his hand is down his pants the moment he closes his bedroom door at night.

At practice, Victor doesn’t bother him, just watches.

Yuri likes it, being watched; likes feeling Victor’s eyes on him in ballet practice, on the ice. Likes it when Victor is paying attention.

On the evening of day three, alone in his bedroom, he decides.

____________________________________

After practice on day four, on Victor’s couch, he takes a sip of Coke and steels himself. Breathes in.

“What does it feel like? Being fingered.”

Victor stops watching TV and turns, mercury eyes narrowed to a slit. Yuri’s got his full attention. “Have you tried it on yourself?” Victor asks.

“A little.” Down to the first knuckle still counts. “But I don’t know what it’s like when someone else does it.”

“Hmm, what it’s like...” Victor trails and lets his eyes roam all over Yuri’s body. “It’s like someone caresses you on the inside, opening you little by little, until you’re so hard and you want his dick so much—fingers are not enough anymore and you want him inside you, stretching you and filling you and being linked to you this way...”

Yuri’s breath is jerky and he’s so hard. This time, he lets Victor see.

“Are you asking me to show you?” Victor says quietly.

Yuri swallows, and nods.

Victor stretches out a hand. Yuri grabs it and propels himself to Victor’s lap, and they’re kissing and kissing and kissing; Victor’s hands are all over him, pawing and squeezing and pulling on clothes. Yuri’s harder than he’s ever been in his life. His entire body burns.

Victor sneaks a hand between his legs and presses, and Yuri comes right there, in his jeans, panting but still not wanting to stop.

Victor holds him close to his chest.

“Don’t tell about this, yeah?” he murmurs next to Yuri’s ear.

“I know. I’m not an idiot,” Yuri says, and they’re kissing again.

____________________________________

One day, Victor tells him to put his arms above his head. “I like it this way,” he says and smooths his palms down Yuri’s chest. “It looks like you’re giving me your body to do whatever I want with.” He brushes one nipple with a thumb—back and forth, back and forth.

Yuri’s breath stutters. His hips rut into Victor’s thigh.

Victor bends over the nipple, and bites.

____________________________________

A week later, Yuri is on Victor’s bed. His head is tilted back, his neck exposed. His chest curves up as he raises his arms.

“Can I tie them up?” Victor says and pulls a gauzy black scarf from under the pillow.

It’s not that tight. Yuri settles into it.

Victor bites on a nipple as he scoots down and takes all of his cock in his mouth.

Yuri whines and bucks into it, and it’s the best thing ever. He squeezes his eyes shut and comes so hard it almost hurts.

When he catches his breath, Victor is stretched out next to him, licking his lips. His hard, fat dick is touching Yuri’s thigh.

“I want to do you,” Yuri says, brave.

____________________________________

The best thing about Victor is that he doesn’t nag. For example, if Yuri complains about school to his grandpa, he’d most likely get _I wish you would apply yourself better, Yura! Skating isn’t forever, you should think about the rest of your life!_ Tch _._ Like skating is some baby phase to be indulged.

When he complains to Victor, Victor tells him to start talking to some loser who does his homework, and copy. _If you can win the Olympics, you’re not going to need her stupid math. Networking is much more important for real success._

Yuri sits astride his thighs and thinks, _Damn right._ _Grandpa_ _doesn’t_ _know_ _much about real life anyway_ _._

Victor palms and squeezes the globes of his ass.

____________________________________

It’s a hard, biting winter outside. Yuri is almost fourteen.

His hands are tied above his head, his nipples bitten raw, his entire body tense as Victor pushes in. His thighs tremble. His ass clamps down.

“Shhh, breathe… breathe...” Victor says and strokes his stomach. “Relax. Bear down on me like you’re going to the toilet--

“Ohhh, yeah. That’s exactly right.” Victor gasps and slides all the way in.

____________________________________

Later that night, Yuri gets off the cab a block away, where the neighbours can’t see him, and enters their shabby novostroika flat at five minutes to curfew. Their rickety front door squeaks. _No need to replace it,_ his grandpa says. _We’ve_ _got_ _nothing to steal_.

Yuri drops his studded backpack to the floor. Takes off his shoes.

“There’s beans and cabbage in the fridge,” his grandpa calls out from the couch.

The TV blares in the background. It’s a cop show—pretty much the only watchable choice for people who can’t afford cable and only get the public channels.

Yuri fixes himself a plate and brings it over.

Sits.

Digs in.

His nipples are tender against his shirt. When he shifts, he can still feel Victor.

“Is it good?” his grandpa says, eyes on the TV.

____________________________________

Yuri is fourteen.

It’s late summer and he’s naked, braced on Victor’s kitchen table. Victor’s hands are clamped around his hips and his cock drives in, forceful and relentless, getting Yuri _there_ every time.

“Fucking you is. So. Damn. Good,” growls Victor, marking each word with a thrust.

Yuri keens and pushes back, fucking himself as hard as he’s fucked. He is so proud that Victor chose _him_.

____________________________________

Yuri is fifteen, and it’s his last competition in the juniors tomorrow. They’re not fucking tonight because he’ll be skating, but he sneaks into Victor’s room nonetheless.

Under the covers, Victor tangles his fingers into Yuri’s hair. Nuzzles his ear. Licks.

Says, “Win it, and I’ll choreograph your senior debut.”

Yuri’s heart swells.

He cuddles into Victor’s chest, and feels loved.

**Author's Note:**

> I bit off a lot with this fic, and it feels like I've managed to chew around 1/4th of it. 
> 
> Anon is on, and comments are drooled over and fed cupcakes. Moderation is on, too, and I will screen out any abuse. 
> 
> If I confused you with this fic, I'm glad your life turned out this way.
> 
> If I left your guts in a knot, this fic is for you.


End file.
